Sometimes, I want to feel a little more overtly useful.
Occasional Table
Keep him hard, but don’t let him cum.
Yes Daddy.
Ride your dildo, but don’t you get off without permission either, understood?
Yes Daddy.
I’ll be back in an hour, and both of you had better be busy, frustrated, and dripping. If you’re a good girl then we’ll lock your pet up in his chastity device and put the strap on attachment on him, would you like that?
Yes Daddy.
Good, now tease him, train your pet like i’ve trained you, and you can earn your orgasm for later today.
The notion of him not being allowed to fuck her with his own cock does stuff to me.
Sir and I agreed we’d each carry out one of the other’s dirtiest fantasies when he came to see me in a week.
Both are pretty blushy in different ways.
I’ll let you know how it goes.
Being a Brave Girl, Part Four
While I was still pouting and squirming, Sir grabbed his riding crop and strode back over to me. He rolled me over onto my stomach and eased my ass into the air.
“Aww, did you want to cum?” He teased as he started to beat my ass with the crop.
“Yes,” I whined.
He moved the crop over my thighs and feet. With relish, he delivered a series of sharp blows onto my cunt, a few even hitting straight on my clit. I squealed, sucking in deep breath between each smack and bracing myself to take the pain.
After he had successfully reddened my ass and made my pussylips sore and tender, Sir rolled me back over and slipped his cock deep inside of me.
“Beg me when you need to cum, girl,” he ordered.
It wasn’t long before I was begging.
He became Sir really naturally.
I don’t remember the first time I called him that or whose idea it was. But, he was Sir and that was that.
I’ve struggled finding a name for myself to match it. Something he can call me in the dynamic that isn’t my name.
“Sweetheart” is more for a certain kind of mood, when I’m all little and he’s being bad and mean and rough. And the name he calls me when I’m a kitty is basically limited to me being a kitty. (It’s a cute name, though. Trust.)
In the past, I’ve gone by bitch (but I never, ever will again.) And slut (also a no.) And pet (which I don’t know if I want to anymore.)
He’s called me girl. But we agree that it’s hard to start a sentence with girl without it sounding like “GURL.” He tried “little one” this morning and it made me smile but I don’t know if it’s something that’s as natural as “Sir.” And then there’s “kitten.” I don’t know. The syllables sound the best, but I don’t know.
I guess I just don’t feel like I can figure out a name that fits me as well as Sir fits him.
Sigh. Nomenclature.
I like it when it’s casual.
When the ropes don’t match.
Or half of it is found objects: scarves, belts, whatever’s within reach.
There’s something really intimate about that, about how we can make do and still happen it happen.
Photo by Alli Jiang, 2011
I know a kitty who will lap this right up.
Pretty please? Pretty please?
I want it nowww.
I love you in these moments. The way you concentrate, the careful little knots you tie, the fact that I know this does much more for me than for you. I know you’d rather just slap a pair of cuffs on and fuck me until I cry. But, I appreciate this. And I miss it so much right now.
Siiigh.
Bye bye, camping season.